Dark circles under my eyes, shining through. Womp womp. I have to get up from this level. I’ve been playing on the Switch and listening to an audiobook, eating chips and drinking sugar-free soda. Breakfast was a banana. I think I did some laundry. I’ve showered. Could take the trash out. The day after tomorrow I have to go to the pharmacy before the monthly injection again—my slow death sentence.
Maybe I ate salad the day before yesterday, plus a bag of carrots. Maybe there’s orange juice in the fridge.
It doesn’t matter—whether I’d be some kind of ugly or worthless woman—to be mocked in every possible way. How profoundly unfuckable I am, without even being asked. I guess the most important thing is that I don’t drag myself down that far. My inner voice isn’t negative. I suppose, for men online, the absolute most important thing is for someone to be as much of a child and as naïve as possible, a girl—so she can be groomed. If the account is 12 years old, you might not be a minor anymore. The internet is toilet paper for men to wipe their asses with—and it has to be as smooth and soft and multi-ply as a baby’s butt—or a girl’s inner life to ruin. Because every man is a mean little boy who never got enough therapy. That sweet, rose-scented mush about how nothing that’s happened to you is ever your fault.
But yeah, I don’t go out among people. Who knows, they might tell me to smile, laugh and mock, call me a fucking sow right behind my back. No external feature is ever appreciated. Not by anyone except yourself. So it’s best to smell nice for yourself only, because everyone else really is a farting yokel.
I’m text-blind. I should probably just feed all this crap into AI again and let it rewrite it. Maybe I’ll just drop deep truths in my usual black tone. Nothing is that serious. Apathetic, lethargic—and whatever other adjectives those male teachers used about me that I can’t even remember. I don’t hate men. I’m probably not in love or infatuated right now. I can say with certainty that I’m still hetero-based asexual. That doesn’t mean bi-curious. I’m not about to shove a paddle up the master’s ass if that’s his fantasy. I’ve got nothing to do with that. Ick.
Living through lack is easier. Lean left instead of right, be green. Don’t watch Yle, don’t read the papers, don’t play the lottery, don’t go to the sauna, don’t eat salmiakki or rye bread or raspberries, don’t listen to the radio. I’m not going to tell anyone else how to live.
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